


wish you were here

by redphlox



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: AU, F/M, Long Distance Relationship, Masturbation, Piercings, Webcam Smut, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:49:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9434348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redphlox/pseuds/redphlox
Summary: Homesick and stressed out, Maka can’t remember why she chose to study abroad. She misses Soul and the physicality of their relationship that can’t be translated via Skype calls. But luckily for her, a spur-of-the-moment belly button piercing might be the key to easing some sexual frustration – if she can fumble her way through initiating webcam sex, that is. Who said good girls can’t learn to be bad?





	1. I miss you

**Author's Note:**

> this is one of my Resbang 2016 entries, an event hosted on Tumblr and Grigori-Wings/Yuku. the best part of writing silly webcam shenanigans was partnering with swordbreaker, who is not only a super talented artist, but one of the sweetest people i've ever met. please take a moment to look at the accompanying art she made for this fic - i'll post a link in my profile! also, thank you to lunar-resonance for her support and to lucyrne for her help with editing.
> 
> thank you!

**wish you were here**

"Hey – _oooh,_ where's your man bun? Did you get a haircut?"

Smiling shyly, Soul cards a nervous hand through his short hair. "Yeah... does it look okay?"

Maka palms her chin and leans in as if she can reach through the screen to kiss his dimpled cheek. Vulnerability looks divine on him. Maybe the fact that it's nearing midnight in his time zone adds to the thoughtfulness softening his features – not that his constant state of drowsiness is a newfound problem, but the distance between them is an obstacle wearing both of them down.

Granted, being half a world apart isn't as daunting if they video chat every day, so he stays up late and calls without fail, even if his eyelids often flutter and shut during their conversations. Today is one of those times he's struggling against sleep's beck and call. The semi-reliable internet connection provides a clear image of him for once, and she watches a bashful Soul worrying his lip as she reassures, "Shh. You look cute."

"You mean _cool_ ," he laughs, ducking his head down and rubbing the nape of his neck out of nervous habit. "I wasn't sure about getting it chopped off, but I'm getting used to it."

"It looks good. I promise," she says, lacking the bravery to offer a flirtatious wink. Long haired Soul used his fingers as a brush, made a habit out of borrowing her hair ties to control his mane, and inspired Maka to spend nights with a hand slipped beneath her panty's elastic waistband instead of studying, but clean-cut Soul has her tongue-tied. She's not sure what to do with her hands suddenly - well, she _does_ know, but it's inappropriate and nothing she can act on because he's on the other side of the world.

Her senses are confused. Why she can hear and see him, but not touch?

Long distance relationships are hard.

The blush water coloring down his collar is satisfying and a much-needed reassurance that they're doing the right thing by staying video calling daily.

"Can you show me your window?" he asks through a yawn. To say that he's fascinated with the sky would be an understatement. How it could be dark and star-filled for him but bright and cloudless for Maka never ceases to baffle him. She's not done fawning over his hair, but she doesn't want to dwell over feelings she can't act on. Wishing a light switch existed to turn her fleeting libido on and off, Maka pushes herself away from the desk, picking up her laptop.

"It's noon-ish here," she says, knowing that he's bound to ask, like clockwork. Some things never change, and this is one she hopes is a constant.

"I'm never going to get over how you're a day ahead of me," he drawls.

What Maka can't let slide is the effect his voice has on her: it rumbles in her chest like the echo of bass speakers at EDM concerts she used to drag him to. She curls her toes to make sure the tingle that rolled down her spine wasn't the kind that leaves her wobbly-kneed. Thank heavens she has the screen turned toward the window because the look on her face must be pathetic - homesick, flustered, dizzy with want.

He's still talking: "It's eleven at night here on the east coast."

"Yeah, the time zone thing is kind of crazy," she agrees absentmindedly.

Nostalgia is overwhelming: Soul waking up early (or not sleeping through the night) to watch the sunrise, sharing a cup of tea with her. Good morning kisses to her forehead. The welcomed roughness of stubble against her cheek when he held her close. She begins to think that these daily video calls do more harm than good. Two months ago, the prospect of studying abroad didn't faze her - they're poetry in motion, after all, Ying and Yang, two ends of the same string. It's not that her confidence in the sturdiness of their relationship was _wrong,_ but she severely underestimated how deeply ingrained Soul is in her life, how she'd feel at a loss without him at her side.

It's like wandering around in the dark.

She misses him terribly, hungrily, like she's stuck underwater without knowing which way the surface lies. She wants him in an animalistic way, teeth marks on inner thighs and all, but she also wants to hold his hand while they watch TV, or pull a blanket over their heads before a lazy makeout session, and brush his hair out of his face while he naps. She wants him wholly, and she's selfish through and through because she wants to be wanted _too_ \- sinfully.

And Soul isn't very forthcoming.

Sex had been a new and fun development around the time she decided to hop on an airplane, so there's that to look forward to when she returns in six months, but there's a little voice in her head that insists things won't be the same. Still, it would be a damning lie if she tried to downplay how much time she dedicates to thinking about his sharp hipbones, remembering how his muscles twitched beneath her fingertips as she explored skin she'd never seen before.

Vocalizing how much she misses him in parts wouldn't be fair - especially the parts about him that technology can't communicate, like how his touch sets her skin on fire, or the comfort of catching a whiff of his shampoo as he climbed into bed. It's her ambition's fault they're separated because she wanted to study abroad for grad school, but Soul doesn't seem to outwardly mind or cast blame. Aside from playfully whining that he's never noticed how cold winters could get because she's a human electric blanket, he's careful about masking his longing. She wishes he wouldn't, that he could be more open, that he'd confess that her name slips from between parted lips when he touches himself.

Talking about _that_ wouldn't do much good either. They're on different continents.

"Any plans for today?" Soul's voice is saying. His attempts to make normal conversation is appreciated, but she can't keep her feelings compartmentalized at the moment. That's his specialty, not hers.

"I'm back from my meeting with my mentor Tsubaki," she says, climbing onto her bed, turning the laptop so she can _look_ at him. "I have to study, but I don't want to, Soul - I'm tired, and I miss you."

He frowns, brows knit, voice low: "I miss you too."

She wants to cry. His honesty is heart-wrenching. "Really?"

"I mean... you're my best friend." Pausing to take a breath, he goes on, "I'm kind of lost without you here. I'm pathetic."

Puffing out her cheeks is the only way she can prevent a grin and happy tears to roll down her cheeks. She's not happy that he's miserable without her, but the fact that her absence has an effect is validating, reassuring. On a 'selfishness' scale from 0 - 10, she's at an 11, relieved that she's needed, wanted, missed, irreplaceable. Not that she suspected anything otherwise, but hearing what is supposed to be understood without being said means the world.

"Tell me more," she requests, staring intently.

Soul bursts into laughter, radiantly so. "You want me to tell you more about my suffering?"

She nods, solemn. "I mean, I want to talk about _us_. And about you."

Springing this on him out of nowhere probably isn't fair. But it's rare that Soul opens up without a tad bit of prying, so she has to take what she can get. Unfortunately, scooting back and plopping herself against fluffy pillows for comfort during what could be a difficult conversation disconnects the call just as he opens his mouth. The internet is sensitive - she should have known that moving too much would end their call prematurely. Sometimes it's hard to get back, and she chants and begs underneath her breath for connectivity, throwing in a few of her favorite stringed curses. The need to hear Soul listing all of the ways she's missed is parallel to an emergency. Luckily, the foot of the bed, she finds, offers a stronger signal, and she's hitting the 'call' button before she can think.

"Stupid internet," she explains in a huff the second he appears on the screen again, stark lashes glinting in the darkness surrounding him. From the familiar outline of posters hung on the wall behind him, she would bet that he's in his room.

Clearing his throat, Soul shakes his head. "Yeah. Anyway, where were we? You were begging me to tell you I love you-"

She balls her fists, feeling warmth coloring her cheeks. A different kind of heat simmers in her lower belly. It's that damn haircut - she can see his eyebrows because they're not veiled behind tousled bangs anymore, and he's so _expressive_. Sexuality has always been a mystery to her but something about Soul is alluring, like he must have been a part of her in a past life. Apparently, Maka has a thing for the elegant look. He's every bit the refined gentlemen his parents hoped he'd grow up to be despite his affinity for disregarding the rules with a lazy shrug.

Okay, time to be serious.

"Soul," she says firmly over his exaggerated monolog. " _Soul_. Seriously -are you okay without me there?"

The mirth in his eyes fades into a careful stare. "Yes and no."

"Details, please."

He _tsks_ at her. "Pushy, pushy."

She might cry. " _Soul-"_

"Okay - I mean, I really miss you, and things are better when you're around, but I'm feeling okay too. Get me? Not as anxious and stuff. Anyway-"

Maka leans forward, forgetting that she can't throw her arms around him to let him know he's loved beyond belief. His strength is admirable. Worrying is a habit she's picked up from him, though. "But you said you were pathetic."

There he goes, running a hand through his hair again, kindling misplaced arousal that she's glad she can't act upon because she's not graceful when nudity is involved. Initiating sex was awkward, neither of them wanting to come on too strong, both too shy to ask for what they wanted or what the other needed. Maybe the time apart has allowed an opportunity to polish their communication skills, because if they were in the same room, she'd ask him to take off her clothes with his teeth.

"Yeah," Soul admits, bringing Maka back to the present moment. "I meant, I'm pathetic 'cuz I miss you so much… You're kind of fun to be around." Both of his hands fly to his face as he coughs, though Maka suspects it's to cover up a bright red blush. It takes the edge off his ever-present scowl, which is only a mask for the reticent, uncertain softie hidden underneath hoodies and feigned apathy.

Maka bites back a beam. "You miss me," she singsongs, wishing he were there so she could climb into his lap.

"Don't make me take it back," he grumbles, covering his face. "I'm so sleep drunk and it's not even that late. Forget I said anything."

"You're cute," she insists, daydreaming about running her hand through his hair, phantom pinpricks of electricity blooming at her fingertips. She wishes she could be there in the flesh to feel the change in his aura, to feel the goosebumps blossoming along his arm. The effect she has is empowering - he melts when she looks at him, and she's sure he'd sacrifice blinking if it meant he could see her more. She only uses her powers for the greater good, of course, never asking him to stay up longer than necessary, always ending their Skype calls with things like "I think about you a lot" that leave him beaming.

"I wish you were here," she sighs, laying down. Bad posture might be contagious - the spot between her shoulder blades aches like the muscles are stretched out too thin due to her slumping forward. No wonder Soul always looks grumpy. She decides to reward him with plenty of messages when they're together again. "I miss you, too."

Soul smiles sleepily, peeking between his fingers at her. "Yeah," he whispers. "I know."

X

Maka always wants what she can't have. It's not a negative thing, though - she's nothing if not persistent until she gets her way, and she welcomes the challenge of seducing her boyfriend with stubborn resolve.

"...What are you wearing?"

Soul licks his lips, unblinking. "Uh, a… shirt?"

" _I meant bottoms_ ," she wants to say, instead falling silent. She can't say the word 'underwear' to save her life.

Flirting with Soul is an anxiety-filled, frustrating adventure. She has no idea how they wound up naked and between his sheets the first time, giggling through their own insecurities and kissing the other's away. The boy does not understand that she's trying to steer their conversation in a more _risque_ direction. Maka isn't sure how internet sex works, but she knows she wants it, and for that to _come_ about he has to be on board, too.

Articulating that need is an entirely different feat. She wants to be coy, _sexy,_ and she's not willing to sacrifice those to see galaxies in the darkness behind her eyelids.

"Maka, you can see me, you know what I'm wearing," Soul continues, tugging at his shirt.

"I know, I know, I just…," she sighs, feeling stupid. "I wanted to try something-"

Soul stares as she stops abruptly. "...Yeah?"

For once, words fail her. How is she supposed to say that she wants to pick up where they left off _sexually_? Pervertedness may be a rampant gene she's inherited (shoutout to her adventurous, raunchy father for carrying and passing-down dominant traits), but said traits aren't active unless Soul is the subject. Now the haircut is the newest piece of the mystifying attraction puzzle, proving that she's indeed head over heels about him.

She feels dirty. Wanting to ask if he would show more skin because she misses him seems too lewd, especially when he's staring at her so innocently. "Yeah," she decides to say, letting go of her game plan. "Want to play Sudoku online with me? I found a great website-"

He scrunches up his face, pretending to gag. "I forgot I have to go do something, bye," he jokes, shaking his head, detangling his hair with his fingers. "Puh- _lease_ don't make me sit through your nerdy hobbies - oh hey, I know something we could do. Close your eyes," he interrupts himself, lighting up.

Disappointment about the failed flirting attempt punches her in the gut, but then she sees him pull a guitar into view, laying it across his lap. "Oh! I want to hear you play-"

"Close your eyes. You know I get stage fright." Soul may be oblivious, but he's obliviously sweet.

Maka shields her eyes behind her hands. "Is this good?"

"Perfect," he says. "No peeking."

The silence before he strums a ballad is like anticipating a long-awaited gift. She's not sure when to expect the sound to start, or how loud it will be, or what mood the song will take because Soul tends to surprise, but excitement buzzes beneath her skin like a high voltage powerline. If she were there, they'd be cocooned by blankets on the couch in his apartment, Maka's head resting against his shoulder as he played well into the early morning hours.

But now everything's different, and she'd have to cross a vast ocean and numerous state lines to even be in the same city as him, and the first few chords he plays lack a certain pureness that can only be appreciated fully by hearing them in person. The moment finds her digging the heel of her palms into her eye sockets to keep tears at bay because Soul settles on humming along to the melancholic tune instead of singing.

He's such a great singer. His talents are magnified thanks to her, he's always said, and here he is battling his demons to play for her. She's a terrible partner for not thinking this long distance relationship through -

Soul's voice is like a light switching on, chasing away the darkness. When the music ends and she's still hiding behind her hands, he asks softly, "Are you okay?"

Maka gulps, sighs to mask the sniffles, and rubs her eyes. Maybe these tactics will make him mistake her tears for midday tiredness. When she moves her hands, Soul's face greets her, the skin between his brows pinched in the same fashion that prompts teasing about 'thinking too much'. A wave of adoration hits her. She's so lucky to have him.

"I'm okay," she promises.

X

It's safe to bet that she's an emotional wreck.

There is an internal tug-a-war she can't win waging on, one that mercilessly yanks her between dealing with the frustration of stifling her increasingly overzealous libido and avoiding a miserable hell, all because she misses Soul like she hasn't taken a sip of water in days. Daily skype calls both irritate the psychological wound and appease it. Part of her wonders how he'd react if she proposed a break, though she knows his sensitive heart would take it the wrong way no matter how she phrased it. When she puts herself on the other end of the question, she would _definitely_ smile through the heartbreak and agree if it made him happy, but she'd be reduced to an anxiety-riddled, overthinking mess until she either snapped and demanded a thesis-length explanation of why he ended the relationship.

So, there isn't much that can be done about missing Soul. Maka isn't above accepting the morsels of him she can get in the form of text messages, video chats, and sporadic, shy proclamations of "I miss you", and as far as her sexual frustration goes… she has fingers. Fantasizing is free and her preferred method of relieving stress. Closing her eyes, visualizing a mass of white, newly cut mop of hair between her thighs, pretending her finger pads are a wet, hot wave, and mouthing his name does the trick. Splurging on a vibrator is a viable option, one she plans to carry out via the lifesaving means of the internet, except she's afraid of her nosy roommate opening the package before Maka even knows of its arrival.

Thank Hell and all its wonderful sins for overbearing roommates, though. It's exactly what Maka needs to get the ball rolling with Soul, even if it's presented as a burden at first.

Kim Diehl has no boundaries, no shame, no sense of boundaries, and endless creative innovation when it comes to having fun - something she claims Maka knows nothing about. At first, the two hadn't met eye to eye, which nothing like bonding over the disapproval of strange men's gratuitous ogling couldn't fix. Now they're practically best friends, borrowing the other's hair tools and products, Maka helping Kim with Japanese grammar and Kim returning the favor by cooking meals and making sure they're never out of toilet paper. Of course, Kim, who is an open book, tries to wheedle information out of Maka about her 'mysterious boyfriend', and has become more and more persistent the less Maka reveals.

"You need to get out and have fun," Kim declares one Friday evening, knocking Maka's textbook off its stand with a swat. "When you're not crying over assignments you're crying over your boy toy, and neither are healthy. Do you realize you're not tied to your desk? You have something called 'Free Will.' Let's go out and do something!"

Maka thumbs through the pages to look for the paragraph she had barely started on before Kim barged into the room. "I'm _busy_ ," she says, more harshly than intended. Inwardly cringing at her rudeness, she continues, "Maybe we can watch a movie or something when I'm done with this report?"

"When I said 'out', I meant out of the apartment. You know… _outside_ ," Kim says, closing the book again, this time snatching it away and dangling it above Maka's head like a prize. "Remember that cute girl I was telling you about? The one from the tattoo shop where I got my nose pierced?"

Maka squints. "Sure?"

"You weren't listening!" Kim sighs through her nose loudly. "Anyway, she invited to hang out tonight. You should come with me. I'm begging you, actually-"

"After I do one last thing." Maka's attempts to compromise go in one ear and out the other. Her chair screeching back as she stands, ready to reclaim her possession and go back to reading about Japanese consonants and vowels. Although Kim is three-and-a-half inches taller than Maka, it's enough to prove advantageous. Jumping to reach it only inspires Kim to swing the book left and right and up and down to avoid capture until Maka settles on directly accosting her, bringing out her nails carefully as she claws for her book.

Kim retaliates by stuffing the book underneath her shirt.

"Okay, that's not going to stop me," Maka declares, diving for the rectangular lump on Kim's belly, screaming gently along with her roommate's demanding squawks.

"Just. Go. Out. With me! I'm want to see Jackie again, but I need you to come along so it's not awkward," Kim screeches, now doubled over, securing the book between her bent knees and chest. She doesn't give in when Maka tries to open her up like a clam, nor does she surrender when Maka settles on tickling. "It won't kill you to get out once in awhile, too!"

Maka stands up from where they ended up piled on the floor, stomping toward her closet. "FINE!"

X

Two hours later finds the pair in a cab.

"Are you sure you shaved your legs? And your armpits?" Kim's asking loudly as Maka types out ' _SOS! Kim kidnapped me. Send a search party if I stop answering'_ in a text message thread to Soul. Beside her, Kim is reaching down to test the smoothness of Maka's shins while Maka's phone vibrates in her hand almost immediately.

' _Yea? Send me a selfie so I can show the police'_ reads Soul's accidental suave reply. Maka can imagine him burrito-wrapped in fuzzy blankets on his bed, one eye barely cracked open and struggling to string coherent words together, not knowing that half a world away she's reading too much into his text. He's too innocent. In fact, he's probably stuffing potato chips into his mouth in his drowsy stupor, and here she is, burning up because she's thinking a million dirty thoughts a second.

It's inspiring, though. She's rocking a new mini-skirt, ankle boots, and she knows a picture is worth a thousand words. Not only is she happy with the view of herself when she looks down at her lap, but the image her phone captures is one Soul would be ecstatic to see: legs for days, bare thighs, her skirt ridden up high. Attaching it to a message makes her heart thud against her sternum, and swatting away Kim's hands from her armpits is a temporary distraction until her phone vibrates again to notify her of Soul's response:

' _Damn_.'

X

The bar and club scenes aren't Maka's style - too stuffy and dark and filled with the looming stench of alcohol she's come to associate with her papa's cheating - so the pair ends up arcade-hopping until it's time to meet Jackie and her friends. At first, Kim scoffs at the neon blinking signs and preteens who shamelessly and gracelessly hit on her, but as the night wears on, the age range of the arcade-going changes and she's suddenly on board with the idea.

Of course, the change of heart is only because a certain long haired, eyebrow-ring wearing beauty declares arcades are 'retro and fun.'

"My family traveled a lot because of the military. I fell in love with Japan, so I stayed here. I do tattoos and piercings to get by," Jackie says to Maka when they're introducing themselves, though she has eyes only for Kim, who blushes a red so bright she glows.

One thing Maka _had_ expected was becoming the awkward third wheel to an impromptu date because Jackie's friends ditch them early on. The pompous bastard named Ox, who threw a tantrum when he lost a brief battle of Mortal Combat to Maka, declared he and Harvar had 'more pressing matters' to attend to after Harvar demolished them all at DDR.

Not that Jackie and Kim notice their absence. Or Maka's.

The girls continue their arcade-hopping adventure, Maka looking the other way to give Kim and Jackie some privacy whenever they send each other love-eyes. Four in the morning sees the trio high off soda, candy, and victory after having challenged and taken away a local gang of teenager's Space Bowling winning title.

"Idiots," Jackie says as she leads them down the street. "They didn't even notice the skewed the scores-"

Maka's internal code of honor flares up. "Jackie! That's just wrong-"

"Like I said, not my fault."

Meanwhile, Kim seemingly puts on a straight face and pretends not to care that she's fallen in step with Jackie, that their hands briefly touch as they sway back and forth. It's obvious to Maka that the first few times are a mistake, but the next fifty times are calculated and welcomed. Maka speeds up to lead the way even if there's no particular place to go, partly because she doesn't want to intrude on their moment, mostly because she wants to have time for herself.

Texting Soul about missing her bed, her laptop, and his hands is a distraction from Jackie and Kim. A weird wave of jealousy-nostalgia has her silently wanting a tender moment like they're having, but with Soul. The last time they held hands was when he saw her off at the airport, neither of them saying anything as they sat and waited for her to board. Maka becomes too focused on her cell phone screen, ends up following _behind_ the flirting almost-couple, and feels a stone drop in her stomach when she overhears Jackie say, "Want to hang out at my tattoo parlor? I live in the apartment right above it…"

No way is Maka going to shadow them and sit it on what's looking like a hookup, but as she scans her surroundings, she realizes with a start that she's not sure where they've ended up. It's four in the morning, she isn't sure pepper spray will equate the security of traveling in a group, and the arches of her feet are screaming for reprieve.

"Jackie, I'd love to see your place, too."

Speaking up shakes Jackie and Kim from their lovestruck trace, shocked expressions confirming Maka's suspicion they had forgotten she was still around. Jackie looks between her and Kim, blinks as she gathers her thoughts, and tilts her head in the direction of her apartment. "That way!"

Kim has no boundaries and plenty of shameless grace. "I've always wanted my nipples pierced."

Jackie's flustered state is palpable; it's a wonder the whole city doesn't tilt. Even from watching the back of her head, Maka can tell Jackie's blushing brighter than a lightbulb. "I could…I could help you with that. I _am_ an expert at piercing."

"I've always wanted a belly button piercing!" Maybe Maka's envy drives her temporarily mad; maybe she's subconsciously dedicated herself to sabotaging any opportunities Kim might have for romance as revenge for having her studying night ruined. Either way, her raunchy roommate doesn't waver - she spins around so fast she almost falls, so abruptly that Maka walks into her.

"Really? Well, we could do fix that right up before Jackie does my nipples," Kim says cheerily, grabbing Maka by the wrist so she doesn't run away.

Plot twist. Maka hadn't expected this, or she would've been prepared with a better comeback other than, "It's late and I have to go home." Pitiful.

"Nonsense, Maka. I'm so glad you're taking my advice and decided to live a little!" '

"Ahh…" She can't think quickly enough. "Maybe I can get another earlobe piercing instead? "

The artist in Jackie shines through when she proclaims she has just the piece of jewelry that would suit Maka - an angel-shaped opal. "It would dangle against your belly. I'd be cute!"

Kim scrunches up her face at Maka, jealousy running rampant, before sending Jackie a sweet smile. "What about my nipples, Jackie? What jewelry piece would they look cute with?"

Cue Jackie blushing. She stammers all the way to her place, where she drops her keys twice while trying to unlock the door because she's shaking too much. Part of Maka wants to pull Kim to the side and beg her to tone the blatant flirting down. Can't she see poor Jackie's a nervous, smitten mess? Also, Maka can do without being caught in the mix of their bantering seduction of each other. It's awkward. It makes Maka think of Soul, which leads to Maka regretting the study abroad trip and consequently, her life.

"There's something I've never told you," Maka says when they're at the parlor, as Kim pushes her onto the chair pushed up against a mirror. A variety of metal tools lay on a towel on the tray next to the chair - the setup reminds Maka of a horror movie. Lying might be the only way out of this: "I'm afraid of needles."

"Conquer your fears." Kim pats her on the head gently. "I'll hold your hand - wait, do you think that would make Jackie think I'm into you?"

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Maka shakes her head.

The object of Kim's affections returns wearing a professional expression and her hair in a low ponytail. Maka barely met her tonight but she's already seen many sides of this stranger. "This is the piece. Do you like it?"

In the palm of Jackie's light blue latex-covered hand is something Maka thinks is a miniature ball and chain until she takes deep breaths, focusing, bottling up her panic. Attached to the short silver chain is an iridescent semi-sphere that looks like a dream caught in a photograph. All of her favorites colors are melted into mists - lavender, pink, blue, and silver - and it's nothing short of iridescent.

"Ohh.. that _is_ beautiful," Maka breathes.

Jackie motions for her to recline. Maka swallows the huge knot of fear clogging her throat, squeezes every muscle in her body, and rationalizes the terror away while Jackie cleans the area around Maka's navel. The metal clamp-like tool in Jackie's hand only makes Maka flinch a little. If either of the girls heard Maka let out a tiny squeak, they don't take the opportunity to tease. Once Jackie grasps the skin above Maka's navel, Maka turns her head away.

It's been a long night.


	2. Don't blink

Maka waits for regret to visit her when she wakes up, for it to prod at her until she breaks down, but it doesn't happen. The piercing is cute, sexy even, despite the redness and sting when she accidentally rubs up against something. What's more unexpected than how happy she is with it is the empowerment it grants her. She feels a little bit naughty.

Kim stares at her blankly when Maka discloses this information. Then she bursts into laughter. "Maka, you are such a nerd!"

"Okay, but listen! I've never done anything like this. I feel like I went bungy jumping, or went skydiving."

"So getting your belly button pierced gave you an adrenaline rush," Kim notes, flipping through a magazine with a headline that reads: Fifty Sure Ways To Know She's Into You. "You're so innocent and naive, it's cute."

Knowing that Kim doesn't mean any harm is one thing, but feeling like she's being patronized is a whole other demon. Maka breaks her own rule of never eating in her room, taking her eggs and turkey bacon to her desk in an angry flurry.

X

Maka is bad at keeping secrets, so two weeks later after Soul performs one of her favorite acoustic love songs during a Skype call, she decides to show off her belly - particularly, the piece of jewelry on it.

"I got my bellybutton pierced," she begins, hopefully as nonchalantly as he manages to be. It's noon, the size of her undereye bags are enormous, she's still in her oversized pajama shirt, and there's nothing sexy about any of that, but Soul can make her feel like a queen with just a dimpled smile.

"What? No way - lemme see," he laughs, sleep in his eyes.

The energy between them is already a little high thanks to the song he just sang. Maka doesn't know much about music but she does know it would've set the mood for grinding if she were with him. Would bringing up the piercing tip things over the edge, since it would require some of her clothing to come off? Wouldn't it be easier for Soul to see if she weren't wearing a shirt?

Maybe. Hopefully.

She'll ease them into it.

Maka shuffles a little bit, sitting on her folded legs, skin buzzing like it's the first time she's revealed herself to him. It's completely innocuous - just a strip of skin, just her bellybutton, just the scintillating opal dangling against the shirt she's rubbing between her fingers to draw out the fragility of the moment. But she wants it to be more than nothing, and the way Soul's eyes darken like a light being dimmed, hypnotized by following her hands, it's safe to say he thinks it's more than nothing too.

The silence is so thick a scythe could cut it in perfect halves. Maka gathers her hair in a ponytail before smiling at him and finding the edge of her shirt again. She should be embarrassed, but she's past saving from damnation at this point. After playing with her shirt for what seems like years, she tilts her hips toward the screen - 'bucking' is too rapid of a word to describe the way she repeats the motion, but it's more of a slow-motioned thrust, designed to reign in every ounce of his attention.

It works. He's so still he might not be breathing. He's alert like an animal that's caught a whiff of something interesting nearby, calculating, unsure how to proceed. Maka stares at him as he stares at her skirt, and she knows by how he stops blinking that she has him wrapped around her finger. Slight repentance hinders her next step, but only because she isn't proud of exploiting a harmless moment, doesn't know where exactly she wants this to end up. A solo-show would be ideal -

Slowly, like she's unwrapping a present, she lifts her shirt up, pausing when she reveals a sliver of skin. She glances at the box at the right-hand corner of the screen where she appears, pale because of the intense midday sunshine spilling through the blinds she forgot to close, hair neatly pulled back into a bun, and slightly stiff, amateurish in the way she holds herself.

Honestly, her heart is pounding somewhere other than her throat, somewhere below her belly button. She derails feeling silly by forcefully turning it into an act of bravery - hiking her shirt up a few more inches so that her belly is exposed. Soul gives off a low whistle. "That's so… cool."

Maka stares at his lips. "Cool?"

He blinks but can't look away. "Yeah. Like…" He shifts in his seat, hand finding his neck. "It looks like a galaxy or something. The gem thing. Yeah."

Before she knows it, she's on her knees scooting closer to the screen, hip thrusting slowly but surely in an effort to catch his attention. From the way that he's clenching his jaw so tightly she fears he might pop a vein, it must be working. She lifts her shirt higher. "Isn't it pretty?"

Soul agrees. "It's kinda hot."

She's not sure what she wants to get from this. Soul has switched to wearing his poker face, so now she's faltering - is he even enjoying this bad attempt at initiating webcam sex? Oh god - what if he's too nice to tell her to stop? Searching his face reveals nothing except that he's gone more still than a painting and his ability to focus would make any teacher proud.

He licks his lip. "Closer," he says.

What a relief. Maka can breathe again, but not without a blush. Now that there's an unspoken acknowledgment of where this could be headed, the embarrassment has quadrupled in size. And so has her spontaneity.

Hooking a thumb beneath the hem of her baggy shorts, she pulls them down just a bit - enough to shrug off as 'trying to let him get a better view of the piercing', enough to make his lips part.

Soul is full of surprises too, rolling his eyes and scoffing too gruffly, "Pfft. Maka, you're so hot it's not fair. Tone it down, would ya?"

Yes, he's masking his unhinged excitement as a complaint, like it's not fair and he's both happy and upset about it. But none of that is said in the raspy, passionate way she's gotten him to moan before, especially when she's ridden him for all he's worth. He's worshiped her from head to toe and told the ceiling and sheets exactly how he likes it. She's driven him there. So hearing him try to laugh the situation off makes her want to rip her scalp off.

Maka has no words, but she could cry, she could die from mortification. It's obvious that this isn't going in the direction she wanted. Instead of screeching, she smiles, models the piercing for him for a few more seconds, and when he's hooked on her hips moving side to side, she pulls her shirt down. There is absolute silence. She thinks it's a little too cruel of a punishment, to show him something and take it away, but she has to keep him absorbed, right?

And she has to save face. She feels so stupid.

"It didn't even hurt that much," Maka says like she doesn't notice the disappointment on his face. Maybe she made a rash decision...

Soul coughs into his fist and is quiet the rest of the call.

X

Sometimes Maka can't sleep.

Aside from mentally allocating specific timeframes for self-care activities like showering so she has enough time to fit in two weeks worth of cramming in a day, she has a lot to think about. Worries about her papa gambling away all his money still take up a large portion of her energy. Then there's Kim habit of forgetting to lock the front door, so Maka has to get up twice from bed - once to make sure she secured their safety before calling it a night, and another time to make sure she locked it the first time she got up. There's also a very real chance her belly button piercing could get infected. And that she could sleep through her alarms.

Potential for disaster lurks everywhere. But Maka deals well enough.

When she's done calming herself down, there's nothing to think about but Soul. He's tall, elegantly scruffy, supportive, and no one can quite hug like he can. Although he vehemently disagrees when she likens his love of clothes to his brother Wes, he can dress to the nines with a simple jeans and shirt combination. What Maka likes best is undressing him, or she used to when they were still together in the flesh. She's still sure that'd be fun. They've only been apart three months at this point - maybe the distance won't end up killing her.

Thinking about Soul always leads to thinking about their first time together. The way his muscles spasmed beneath his skin when she touched him. Moving together in the darkness, basking in the afterglow of a lazy morning romp. His delight in seeing her moon-shaped birthmark on the inside of her thigh, just at the junction of her leg and pelvis, and the bliss that was his mouth, his tongue.

At this point in her contemplation, Maka definitely can't sleep, and she's frustrated in an inappropriate sense of the word.

Then, since she's already wound up and Soul's too far away to help, she decides to take matters into her own hands. She rests an arm over her eyes while the other takes its time slipping beneath her clothing in the way Soul does it: calmly, reverentially. She is sacred ground in his eyes, so she'll treat herself the same way in his absence.

Of course, Maka can't match what he can accomplish with his fingers thanks to a lifetime of piano playing, can't discover new things she likes quite the way Soul can. What Maka can do is ghost up and down her sensitive area, sinking into her slit through the fabric of her panties testingly. The heat of his skin is missing, and the element of surprise, but imagining doesn't hurt anything. Biting down on her lower lip too hard could, though, so she relies on holding her breath to avoid bursting at the seams with moans and pleased sighs.

The walls are thin and the apartment itself is a glorified box - nothing like Soul's family house, with its high ceilings and stylishly decorated walls that seem to keep most of their, ah-hem, activities on the down low. It also helped that rarely anyone besides Soul was home, but now Maka has Kim to think of, who seems to run on nothing but social interaction and late night procrastination. Part of Maka lives in fear Kim will burst through her door and catch Maka with her hand between her legs and her heels digging into the mattress.

It's just not the same. Sure, Maka gets there, can bring herself to the edge and enjoy the fall, but if she could hold on to Soul while fireworks light up the darkness behind her eyelids, the whole ordeal would be so much more magical. She's not even sure she's doing it for the pleasure of it or to temporarily get rid of the ache. Even falling asleep afterward isn't the same - the bed's too big without Soul there to sling an arm over her and commandeer the blankets, to kiss her on the forehead.

x

Soul doesn't bring up the piercing again for weeks and it's nothing less than disappointing. Maka thinks she's missed out on her only opportunity to be close to him because she penalized him for stupidity he probably couldn't help. Hell, if he had taken his clothes off for her, she'd be a stammering idiot, too. If they shut down every time the other uttered a dumb thing, they'd never get anywhere, which is exactly why she's sexually frustrated and easily wound up.

Unfortunately for her, Soul's hair grows abnormally fast. It's not long enough to be pulled into a man bun, but it's definitely the right length for Maka to play with if she were with him. Thinking about that reopens the file cabinet in her head where she keeps her regrets stored, so she focuses on other things, like his face. The light stubble Soul starts to sport thanks to a combination of a razor shortage in his bathroom and his lack of motivation to buy more is infuriatingly sexy. She has to think twice about the consequences that hopping on the next flight home would bring, and by the time she's talked herself into staying, she's thinking about the feel of his hair between her fingers, and it's full circle again.

Scruffy Soul is just as fascinating as Elegant Soul. Maka wonders how long her hands can substitute his tongue quietly every time she jumps into bed after they end a Skype call.

It must be the distance - it's driving her libido through the ceiling.

Like a good girl, Maka keeps her thoughts to herself, only bravely complimenting his looks because she likes how he tries to keep cool and not light up. She wishes he wouldn't hide, but that's just how Soul is, and she doesn't bombard him with reassurances either. And that thoughtfulness is definitely a two-way street. After all, Soul's accidental suaveness does mean the world to Maka, and his purposeful compliments are both endearing and make the butterflies in her stomach riot.

Sometimes, though, Maka can't help but wonder if his hands are just as busy as hers. It's not exactly something she can outright ask - actually, she'd rather see it, but that's not something that can be requested with grace and poise. Today, as she piles her hair on top of her head during a call, the look on his face has her wondering if she should ask. He looks like he has a fever, like he's listening to the angel and demon sitting on either of his shoulders and he's two seconds away from telling the angel to get bent because the devil's making a compelling argument.

It sets Maka's skin on fire. From the way his eyes flint to her midsection sometimes, she wonders if he's curious about her belly button.

She isn't wrong.

Forty minutes into the call, he asks, ever so politely, "How's your piercing doing?"

She doesn't miss a beat: "It's all healed, I think. Kim took me shopping and I got a few crop tops so I can show it off."

His whistle is low, amazed. "You, in crop tops? I thought you only liked nerdy vests and ties."

"I'll have you know that I don't regret my fashion sense when I was thirteen, thank you! But yes, I did buy a few - and they're really cute." The timing has to be perfect, or else it'll seem too eager, so she waits a few seconds before adding, "I could model one for you... if you want."

He has the same game plan: stall, pretend to mull it over when it's obvious the answer is a staunch hell yes. "Yeah, okay."

This time Maka knows better than to let the moment slip through her fingers - she pushes her chair to the side and reaches for her shopping bag before adjusting her laptop screen so she's in plain sight, mid waist and up. She has to focus so her hands don't shake as she reaches for the hem of her shirt and lazily hikes it up. The sudden silence as she pauses with her head in her shirt is a stark contrast to all the racket she caused beforehand, and the embarrassment is akin to ants crawling all over her.

"... Nice kitten bra," comes Soul's quiet voice.

She's torn between laughing with him and berating herself - how is wearing a childish thing like that going to spice things up? But since this wasn't planned, there's not much she could have done in preparation. She scrunches her face while she's pulling the shirt over her head and lets the frustration go. The goal is fun, not beating herself down.

"Is that a new one? I haven't seen that one before…" Bless Soul, who can't smooth over any rough patches she feels but gets kudos for trying. It says a lot that he's picking up on her insecurities from a split second of hesitance.

More importantly, his positive small talk grants her the courage to finishing pulling her shirt off.

"Mhm, it's new. When I get back you can see it in person," she says, blinking at the floor before looking at his red face on the screen. Her hands are moving to her hips before she can process what's going on, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, turning her shoulders so the light plays on her chest. "That would be fun, don't you think?"

What's fun is watching Soul blink too fast and gently pull at his hair in absent-minded frustration. It affirms that she's not acting like a sex-deprived demon who needs to be locked away in an iron maiden. Yes, she may be fumbling through this attempt at seduction with the grace of a slug, but at least it's a bonding moment, even if Soul ends up laughing at her cringe-worthy efforts and tells her she's trying too hard.

But he doesn't. He shifts in his seat, staring at her chest, still trying to remain calm, cool, and collected. "Yeah, we could do a thing or two together…"

She can't help but grin because hell yeah he's into this. "Until then, I'll model my clothes for you."

There's not much Maka expects Soul to say - the first is a bright yellow off-shoulder top that he says makes her shoulder look nice despite its asymmetry. Between thinking his innocent observation are charming and that it's a shame she can't reach out and cup his face, Maka feels her cheeks heating up.

"That's how the shirt's supposed to be, Soul," she laughs, watching him get riled up defensively.

"I was trying to look out for you," he says, pouting. "Didn't want you to get ripped off."

"Maybe you're not the fashion guru I thought you were."

Soul is the only person she's met who can glower triumphantly. "Told you."

Can he see the goosebumps blooming along her arms as she takes off the shirt again, trembling a bit out of clumsiness and anticipation? It's not like this is anything new - he probably knows how to take off her clothes faster than she does - but the fact that he's half a world away and still has this effect on her is terrifying in the best way. She's nothing but pent-up frenzy contained by skin, and the only way to release some of the pressure is for him to touch her. But it's been months. It only makes sense that just being under his gaze short circuits her nerves.

"... That one matches the opal on your belly button piercing," Soul's saying, voice notably lower.

She flints her eyes over to him - his eyes are dark with fascinated hunger, a stark contrast to the thick white lashes that don't flutter because he's so enraptured. It must be true that humans are mere animals because the carnal urge to lightly gnaw his lip between her teeth is an overwhelming instinct. She can't see straight. Parts of her don't feel real, like the shirt against her shoulders, or her feet on the cool hardwood floor.

Suddenly, her tongue is thick and unmanageable from the thirst - the awful deprivation that's a worse hell than being trapped in a too small place, a breath away from being crushed. God, she vows never to put distance between them again, even if she's blind with rage at him, or offered another once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She'd beg him to follow her, and she'd do the same if he were ever to move away because nothing can compare to the comfort of being able to reach out and boop his nose when he hides his smile. There is a tenderness that the internet can't replicate and she's starved for it, for the searing friction between them as she splays her hands on either side of his head and finds that perfect angle as she rides him -

Maka gulps, blinking hard to shake herself out of her lewd thoughts. Focus. A few of her nerves must be temporarily singed because coordinating her hands to take her shirt off feels like moving through water. It's sickening almost, having parts of Soul near and yet so very, very, very far, like they're on either side of the galaxy. She's not even sure if the webcam sex she thinks about too much would alleviate some of the tension.

At this point, it could feed the fire, it could make the countdown until she's home unbearable.

Maybe Soul's barely managing to keep his head above the water too, hanging by a thread like Maka is, and they're both suffering in silence when they could be abating the other's burden. He's a visual person - the artist in him craves that sense the most, even if his gift is music, probably because he can express himself through song but not paint on a canvas what's in his mind.

It gets the sluggish wheels in Maka's head turning.

They've never solved any problems by tiptoeing around them, dropping heavy hints and hoping they're picked up without a problem. Communication is key, right? Talking could solve all of Maka's problems, and the more she thinks about it, the more it fits. She has to bring up the webcam sex. It would guarantee consent; it could open the floodgates and save them from drowning in the pool of unchaste and animalistic impulses.

She licks her lips and sucks the edge of her lower lip between her teeth, gnawing softly.

"Soul," she starts, having no time to think about how Soul straightens immediately, like he's at attention. Any other time she'd be stumbling over words, but she's run out of fucks to give.

He's a step ahead of her. His voice is hypnotizing almost. "Can I see it again?"

It's not quiet and demure, but it's not demanding or pleading either. It's Soul. There is a crease between his brows. She holds back a quip about focusing too hard, instead choosing to act coy in case she's reading him all wrong. "My piercing?"

"Please." His Adam's apple bobs as he gulps and clears his throat.

Teasing him is the way to go. "Can't stop thinking about it?"

"God," he moans. He looks tired, with his hands on his face and hair tousled like he just ran his fingers through it because he didn't know what else to do with his hands. Even the very thought burns through Maka, who's surprised she hasn't softened into a puddle. The spark of bravery that inspired her to confess the dirty thoughts swimming in her head is suddenly out like a match.

It's borderline idiotic, Maka standing there in her kitten bra with her mouth gaping open.

She gulps loudly as a loud bang comes from the door before it swings open.

"KIM, KNOCK FIRST-"

"Sorry! I didn't know you were busy." Kim's bubblegum pink hair flounces and flows as she jumps back into the hallway, only her head poking into the room as if it makes up for barging in without asking first. "Can I come in? Jackie texted me and I need help replying - oh my god, is that your boyfriend?"

Maka can hear a tea kettle screaming inside her head as Kim runs in front of the laptop, waving at Soul and ignoring Maka's hissing. She leans in too close to the screen as if wanting to get in Soul's face. "Hi, what's your name?"

Soul looks between Kim and Maka in confused fear and obvious disappointment before deciding to eloquently hiccup, "Uh, Soul?"

Apparently, Maka's assessment of her roommate's personality wasn't accurate enough. Either Kim has no regard for personal space, or she's too sly for her own good - or Maka's, for that matter. Kim pulls up the chair, makes herself comfortable, and squints at him skeptically while Maka seethes her way into accepting that she won't be seducing Soul today. "So, you're the mysterious boyfriend, huh?"

Rescuing Soul from Kim's interrogation is the new mission instead of struggling through what would have been an amusing strip tease. Maka squeezes Kim's shoulders, sure to dig her nails lightly to express her displeasure. "Yeah, that's him, he's real, thanks, bye! You can leave now."

"Hold on, Maka. As your roommate, I have to make sure he's a good boyfriend to you."

The false seriousness in Kim's too-saccharine voice is a clear indication she's just being facetious, but Soul's eyes go wide with panic. It only makes Maka struggle with the urge to guide Kim out via the window. Poor Soul, who doesn't know Kim is playing games. Poor Jackie, who won't know why Kim disappeared suddenly and suspiciously.

"Kim, really," Maka says through clenched teeth.

"Question one: do you, or do you not, buy Maka her tampons and pads when she runs out and asks you to buy them for her? A good partner would know that society teaches us to be grossed out by woman's body and its functions, and it's important to-"

Kim talks faster than lightning and pretends to be as thick as mud. It's not until Maka swoops her arms underneath Kim's armpits and tugs her out of the seat that she stops talking to Soul and switches to acknowledging Maka.

"Hey! Soul still hasn't answered-"

But Maka's already dragging her toward the door, not halting when Kim begins to squirm and holler about her personal space invaded and that she's not a gosh dang mop, Maka, damn. Kim manages to hook an ankle around Maka's bed post when they pass it, halting the extradition process and almost causing Maka to trip.

"Kim, get out," she screams under her breath.

Her roommate's only reply is a small shit-eating grin as she acts like a dead weight, completely falling limply to the floor in silent protest as Maka holds back frustrated tears. The thought of literally kicking Kim out crosses Maka's mind - it wouldn't work but at least it would make her feel better - until she reassesses the situation and continues hauling Kim toward the door.

Over at the laptop, Soul is silent. Hopefully the fickle internet decided to do Maka a solid and disconnected the call, but of course, that would be helpful for Maka, so she wouldn't bet on it. He's probably facepalming as he listens to Kim argue with Maka about how it's a break of roommate honor to kick each other out, ignoring Maka's murderous scowl.

"Alright, alright, okay, I'm leaving. I know when I'm not wanted." Picking herself off the floor, preening her hair, and brushing off her shorts and t-shirt, Kim gives Maka a stern look. "I only wanted to help you out."

Maka could slap her but that would only prolong Kim's presence in the room. She's not a proponent of brute violence either, especially when they have many more months living together ahead of them.

"I appreciate you, but no thanks."

"You're a bad girl," Kim whispers out of the corner of her mouth to Maka on her way out, winking devilishly. In that moment, she has definitely surpassed Satan himself. "That's for interrupting me and Jackie that night you got your stomach pierced. Now we're even."

The door closes behind Kim as she throws a peace sign over her shoulder, leaving Maka nailed down to her spot in shock. Tired laughter bubbles in the back of her throat. The irony of something she inadvertently did to hinder Kim's Jackie time coming back to haunt her is a little entertaining. Honestly, it's a fitting revenge, and now that Maka's Soul time is cut short, the mood suffocated, she can't even be mad.

She puts a hand over her face. "I'm so sorry Soul. That was my roommate Kim."

"... Oh, okay. That makes sense. She didn't even introduce herself," he grumbles.

But the disaster doesn't discourage or deter Maka from starting over another time. Not at all.

Next time, she'll make sure the door's locked.

"You look good in your new clothes," he says, seemingly having arrived back to reality. "They suit you."

Maka smiles, slips back into her clothes, and undoes her hair bun, already thinking about next time. "Thanks," she says, basking in Soul's gaze.

X

"Hey – oohh, oh." Maka settles into curious silence, hands clenched in her lap like she's trying to restrain herself. "Your hair's wet... Did you just shower?"

Using his fingers as a comb, his eyes flicker over to the corner of his screen, tongue poking out studiously. "Yeah, I had to give it time to dry before I go to bed."

Impatience is Maka's middle name. Repeatedly pressing the call button after she hung up when he hadn't answered the first time obviously pressured him to skip a few steps in dressing. Too enthralled with how his damp bangs cling to his forehead, she doesn't see his lack of clothing at first, instead watching his deft fingers work to untangle small knots, which then only has her mind wondering to all the times he unraveled her.

Lord, does she miss his fingers and how they know everything about her.

Absentmindedly, she focuses on how the muscles in his forearm ripple, leading her to admire the curve of his elbow, which he probably skipped moisturizing in his haste to answer her call. She'll have to remind him later because she's then stuck on the definition in his upper arm, triceps and biceps and delts that seem to have grown since she's last touched them.

It's when she's worshiping the dip between his collarbones that she finally notices he's bare-chested. The raised, jagged scar from a motorcycle accident years ago is blurred by the webcam's low quality, and even that inspires a lump to swell in her throat, spurred on from the regretful thought that he's so close but so far away.

She's a mess. While she knows every uneven bump and discoloration of his scar like the back of her hand, it's one thing to see it and not be able to touch it. Months separate her from being able to see him in the flesh, and she vows to run up to him with open arms in the airport like a scene in one of those cheesy movies they used to watch together.

That's reassuring at least.

Still playing with his hair, Soul smirks at her, mischievously so. "I hope no one walks in this time."

Warmth flushes her face. "I'm so sorry about Kim! She's not always a menace - okay, yeah, nevermind. I have the door locked this time, though!"

"I'm not wearing clothes, so I'd hope so."

Everything freezes for a fraction of a second. Maka's brain breaks, its gears jittering to a stop from the shock of what it just processed. The disconnect between what she sees and what he just said doesn't apply to her erratic libido - she presses her knees together instinctively while she trains her eyes on his face, suddenly respectful of his privacy.

"Just watch, Wes is going to barge in this time for a change," she starts, self-conscious goose bumps sprouting up and down her chest, where he's currently looking.

"Nah, no one's home."

Soul is full of surprises, all of them delightful and devilish in their nonchalance. Rare is it for him to open up without a prod, to initiate something so offhandedly and cooly. On purpose. Maka thinks it's the combination of perfect timing and relief that they're finally alone together. There's something miraculous about their connection despite the miles between them. He's a half a world away and yet here they are, immersed in the moment.

"If you have any idea of what we could do, you should say something," he goes on, the mirth in his eyes radiant and flashing like a neon sign. "Maybe something fun? Like, on webcam?"

Fists clenching, she half-yells as the understanding hits her: "You knew?"

"Well duh, Maka, it was obvious when you started stripping last time."

The noise that creaks out of her is inhuman. 'Mortified' isn't a strong enough word to describe how she's feeling right now - maybe a kick to her head will let her forget everything.

"Uh, it's not like you're the only one who's been thinking about it. I was doing something about it in the shower when you called," he admits, hiding his face behind his palms.

Blinking is something out of Maka's capability right now. Alert, she sits up a little straighter, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, hyper aware of her fingers doing nothing and a pressure building up somewhere below her belly button. "Can I watch you finish?"

The way he shifts and growls under his breath as he rubs his face entrances her, time slowing down, both of them like untamed animals when he stops masking a flustered blush and they finally make eye contact again. Maka misses the undressing part of this the most - Soul already having prepared himself certainly helps ease them into the fun more effortlessly, but the best part of this type of intimacy is the buildup, the anticipation.

Just as he murmurs that he needs a visual, her fingers find the hem of her shapeless shirt, propping herself on her knees as she lifts it over her head, knocking a few strands of her hair loose from her topknot. She only tucks them behind her ear because they block her view of Soul's hand disappearing out of view, finding a rhythm she thought she'd never see on webcam.

It's slow at first, a few testing strokes, other arm resting on his desk like a support beam. His eyelids half closed, his breathing becoming shallower, his rapt attention on her - it's almost too much for Maka, who forgets to move, that she needs to push him over the edge. She regains control of her extremities long enough to pick up her laptop and leap to her bed, setting it down and angling the screen so she's in full view.

"Wait." Maka possesses zero fucks to give if she sounds desperate. She definitely is - she's uncomfortable in the sense she's dying to relieve some of the pent-up need between her thighs, not sure if she can position her body how she wants it because the ardent feeling is debilitating. "Wait for me Soul, don't finish without me."

A struggling moan comes from behind his closed lips, but his arm pauses, his jaw slackening as he watches her pile her pillows for comfort before resting her back against them, sliding her shorts and panties down in one uncoordinated movement.

She's bare, bare, staring over her bent knees to bask in his reaction: he's perfectly still, and when she testingly sways her knees from side and side and opens them a sliver, he goes even more motionless.

"Fuck, you're hot," he complains, looking scandalized after she shimmies a little, trying to find the perfect angle for him to see everything. "You and your belly button piercing are so… so dumb."

She wishes she could respond by tugging softly at his hair by pulling him into a kiss, but she can't. The next best thing is to stretch her legs out, flexing her thighs to show off everything he surely misses.

"When you get back, I'm going to live between your legs-"

Heat surges through her despite the air cooling her skin, reminding her that he's always good for his word, that it's unfortunate he's not physically with her to map out her skin and make her shiver for reasons besides the room temperature.

"Soul," she pleads, and it's high enough in octave for him to know she's asking him to focus.

They move together. Maka gently parts her legs, relaxed and confident in her current vulnerability, her hand sliding across her hip bone and moving between her thighs while he goes to work again. Everything about warming herself up is different now that she's under his spellbound gaze, the tension thickening.

She's wound up. Soul is an expert in uncoiling her, in touching her thighs just the right way as she trembles at the expense of his ministrations, but his talents also include making her blood boil by groaning her name in that raspy worship he's too good at. Shame isn't what inspires her to move her fingers to his arm's movements - that's her impoverished side taking over, wanting to connect with him via rhythm.

Closing her eyes isn't an option. She doesn't want to miss any of this - Soul climbing to reach his climax, his lips parting to chant her name, his breath becoming choppier and more strained by the second. The shade of pink coloring his cheeks and forehead is enchanting and irresistible because she put it there. She's pulling him apart by merely touching herself, and the thought empowers her, makes her feel like she's on top of the world -

"Faster, Maka…"

There's the spot. She finds it as he licks his lips as if to seal his request, her back arching and a silent scream caught in her throat as she clutches at her sheets with her free hand. A shiver shoots up her spine, reducing her into a needy mess before she picks up the speed, experimenting with different pressures and alternating between circular motions on her clit.

Through heavy eyelids, she sees Soul hunch over suddenly, keening, her name a prayer as he calls out for her, a sated calmness washing over him. It's what finally makes everything click for her - seeing Soul come undone, because of her, for her. Something like molten lava floods her, taking her out of commission and clearing out her mind.

In the moment that follows, she's too aware of her stiff hip joints, of her wet fingers. There's a cramp threatening to seize her toes from having curled them tightly as she came, and she hadn't been aware how heavy she had been breathing until now, as they simmer in the aftermath, her chest falling and rising heavily.

"... It got everywhere," he's mumbling, grabbing a towel from out of her view and bending down - probably to clean up.

"I'll be back, too.."

By the time she's run to the bathroom and stepped back into her shorts, he's dressed too, his black shirt a stark contrast to his now dry and mussed up hair.

"Is that a new bra?" Squinting, he studies the detail of her frilly a-cups as best as he can. "Are those owls?"

Absolutely nothing about what she's wearing is passable as sexy. During all those time she imagined this, she had planned to have nothing on at all, but in the midst of the magnetism she failed to unclasp her bra and fling it across her room. Ugh. The worst part is, she had deprived him of boobs and he hadn't grumbled - dammit.

But that okay. He had been busy looking somewhere else.

"Yeah, and no, they're cats again, like my other bra," she says, slipping into her shirt.

"Nice socks, too," he says, winking. "I didn't even notice them until after."

If he were there she would assault him with pillows, but since she can't do that to her laptop without breaking it, she settles for closing one eye and aiming her finger gun at him, pretending to fire. "Thanks, they're yours."

They share a look and burst into laughter, the afterglow just as rewarding.

"Wish you were here," she finds her voice to say, undoing her bun. "I miss you."

His grin is wide and dimpled. "Wish I were there, too."


End file.
